


The Carnival of the Animals

by Abka_Aten



Series: Danse [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler, The Tudors (TV), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Female Ciel Phantomhive, Genderbending, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 19:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11042553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abka_Aten/pseuds/Abka_Aten
Summary: The last thing she’d seen was her dearest one, his eyes were glistening with unshed tears as he kissed her now bloodied lips.She was not that lucky with love, maybe it was a figment of her imagination.





	The Carnival of the Animals

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [regina gloriana](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851001) by [SearchingforSerendipity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SearchingforSerendipity/pseuds/SearchingforSerendipity). 



> Anne's part was inspired by amazing work "regina gloriana" (links above)
> 
> "Now" Timeline : Queen Victoria's later years of reign, probably 1889 or 1900.

**_Past_ **

 

Her clever, clever child traced the sentences while pronounced carefully. Not even four years old, her precious, precocious Elizabeth, with her grandmother red-gold hair and her own blue eyes, whose voice in pretty French soothed her heart, her sincere smiles were balm to her soul as her love lied and laid with his English rose, his sweet maiden.

_London would’ve melted to Thames first._

_What a promise, once covered with jewels and honours, of love and passion now wilted like her happiness._

She was not afraid of dying. She would sleep forever, free of pain and thorns of love. Her only concern was beloved Elizabeth.

She’d kissed her cheeks and forehead for the last time. Her child, her Jewel of England, would her husband declare Elizabeth, their innocent love, as a bastard when he’d cut her, his Queen’s head? Like he did to his Pearl before? 

She’d murmured a prayer, weaved spells upon spells, ward her future child from danger.

_Let Elizabeth’s mind and eyes the sharpest to protect her, let her hair shone  like rubies laid in golden crown like her namesake, let the Land be her father, the water and ocean became her mother, the warmth of fire be her sister and the storm and wind became her brother, Protect her, protect my child from evil._

Anne Boleyn maddeningly chanted the incantation of old ritual, a forgotten magic as the threads of elements carefully encircled Elizabeth’s wrists.

Satisfied, she’d said goodbye as her daughter’s Governor carried back her sleepy charge into the princess’s room.

When her own head cut, rolled in the ground and her blood, the blood of an innocent mother splattered, it would be completed.

Her little Jewel would be safe.

England would protect her.

 

**_Now_ **

Her long hair was plaited into French-style plaits that her butler skillfully arranged into complicated up do with scattered emeralds and topaz. Her gown was black, styled appropriately for the occasion, her lips coloured in a tea rose and her eye, dark blue as her family ring's sapphire, showed nothing as Edward cried.

He’d blamed her, she knew. He’d blamed her way of vengeance that cost his golden, sweet and kind wife. He’d blamed her, his own cousin, his first crush, his ex-fiancée, his first love, his once child bride, because the way of Phantomhive, her way of luring the vultures.

 

Ciel thought that only Lizzy understood as she and her servants decimating her final enemies. Her Lizzy, her Elizabeth Midford, her other naive, pure and beautiful cousin would fight with honour, or not.

Lizzy was always the Phantomhive one out of Aunt Frances’ children, a beauty that capable of deceiving masses, her masks were flawless as her fencing skill.

_May be if I was born as a man, she would be my queen, my hidden trump card, she often confessed to her old love, her King, her Henry in lonely nights._

Edward, although his mother was a Phantomhive, would always be a Midford first.

Brave, loyal, standing tall like a lion, an embodiment of true knight.

He’d easily swayed of something, so pure and white like her Henry.

Guinevere and Lancelot, Lady Jeanette Midford blushed once as he’d tell his cousin the tale of their love.

She would be Merlin then, Ciel joked rarely. The bloodied and forgotten warlock that was always ready to protect his King, his Albion.

At least Merlin, unlike Anne, had acquired the knights’ loyalties, though both were the lone Queens, the treasured pieces whose lives were easily discarded as the master wished.

Ciel Phantomhive would not need a knight. She was the Queen of Underworld; her family did the dirty deeds to protect the royal family and the Queen Victoria’s interest.

Countess Phantomhive _did not_ need to associate with purity and kindness to survive. Honour had no place in her mind.

Her demon had cradled her pretty head as the emeralds and topaz in her tresses stained crimson, like her little Gloriana, magnificent in red, magnificent in death, as her gown darkened from the warm blood, as her revenge now completed and her lineage died.

Sebastian placed her in her throne in wintry December, like a dying swan, the once demon called Malphas was sucking her soul as sweet, spicy and delicious as dark chocolate.

The last thing she’d seen was Edward’s green eyes were glistening with unshed tears as he kissed her now bloodied lips.

 _She was not that lucky with love, maybe it was a figment of her imagination._  

 

**_Future_ **

Her hair was not red like her mother. Hers was dark. Her eyes were blue like her scholar mother’s, although hers were always hard, her lips always pursed in thin line, never curved into a smile. Her features were fated to be lovely, because Charlotte Xavier was never unattractive.

They had said that those harsh expressions were inherited from her stubborn father.

Her mother’s great love that was never home, whose ideology always clashed, who fought in the opposite side but always remembered sending an anniversary gifts in their wedding day.

Whose birthday gifts always unopened, only placed carefully in Cygne Xavier’s room.

She thought it was funny that she had loving parents who were rarely in home together.

Her mother had warned her of boys, of men, the kind ones, the hard headed ones, the passionate ones, the bad boy ones, the knightly ones, and the kingly ones.

Her father fancied to be a knight, a protector of the mutants, fighting from distant, his vengeance burned like eternal hatred. Charlotte Xavier hoped that her daughter’s love was better than her own.

Her mother was right. She did not need another misplaced knight, the kingly knight _like Henry,_ or her brave, loyal, lion one _like Edward_.

Bravery was the kindest word for stupidity.

“Chess?”

“Certainly.”

She smiled slightly as her king offered his hand, red hair like her own once in other lifetime though thinning, tall like Henry, strived to be as ordinary as Edward in appearance, whose hands now handled the Phantomhive’s duty, tangled the underworld with his web of poison ivy and thorny roses  similar with her spider web, whose arrogance knew no bounds and considered other people, mutants or not as goldfish.

Her king, who sat across her in the garden, indulged her fondness for playing chess of destiny.

 

 

 

 


End file.
